A Death of No Importance
by Elephants On Parade
Summary: Jonathan's dead. Jonny's dead! His blood ran out, all over the floor, the ceiling and the wall. Everything is dyed red with it. But the floors are waxed, the ceiling clean, and the walls bleach white. Can you not see?
1. The Judge

**Title: **A Death of No Importance  
**Series: **On Pale Horses  
**Rating: **T - May/Will go up.  
**Summary:** Jonathan's dead. Jonny's dead! His blood ran out, all over the floor, the ceiling and the wall. Everything is dyed red with it. But the floors are waxed, the ceiling clean, and the walls bleach white. Can you not see?  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman. Hell, I don't even have a laptop of my own.  
**Notes:** This whole story, all of it, is based on the "Death, Judgement, and Hell" roleplay Kemo, Oz, and I continue on. From it I got the "Reaper" Jonathan. This is a spinoff on that idea, Batman's personality in this is mainly inspired by Oz, and nothing else. It has his own flavor in there. Sort of. Also based on the 'Arkham Asylum' comic where the villains take over the Asylum. The Joker's is a mix of things... but mainly Kemo's view of the clown. Honestly. I thank them for being inspiration, and the nagging folk who made me write this. Or at least made me think of writing it.

Enjoy.

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**Chapter One** **- "The Judge"**

They found the body that morning. They found it lying in an alleyway in the Narrows. It had been a dirty alley, and Batman had stumbled upon it chasing after the Joker, who had suddenly frozen. Prim and proper, just looked to be sleeping. If not for all the red, and the candlelight flickering about showing how the neck had been cut ear to ear. Blood coated the floor, dripped from the walls, and collected in puddles around the body. It still had its color then. Lips were still a vibrant red to them, and the cheeks a rosy pink. The death had been instant.

Flickering light from the candles made shadows dance across the skin, the eyes were open and staring lifeless at the sky. The eyes were what told the duo who exactly this was. Bright blue, a shocking color that had always been steeped in sadness were now dull. Dull, unpolished, lifeless- whatever the term, it was Jonathan Crane's body there. His body washed in his own blood, a ritual disguised by death. Its a shock to both of them, but less so to the Joker than the bat. For the clown knew death and what it was like, while the bat only knew one side of it.

The bat, however, was the first to act. Pulled out his cellphone and called the only person he knew would get there, "Gordon. Dead- Crane. Scarecrow. Alley. Narrows." Without waiting for the answer, he hung up, and sent the address to the police commissioner. He watched carefully as the Joker bent down next to the first true villain the bat had ever faced. He took a chance and asked, "Did you know him? Or- ever met Scarecrow?"

No reply at first. Then the clown stood, and brushed nonexistent dust onto his purple pants, face unusually grim. But then he smiled, laughed, and then, "No, I didn't." There was a pause for thought, and something else. "But I heard of him. From Harvey Dent, he made a great show of pointing something out." Face twisted into a grimace now, voice angry, "He said- he said that I am not like you. That you are not like me. It is the Scarecrow and the bat that are more alike. Because they both instill fear. Fear is their primary goal. In different people, but it is the goal. That it is ironic that two people of such likeness should exist in the same place and time, and cross paths." Then the Joker spat, "I'm glad they're both dead!"

One was figuratively dead, as Harvey Dent no longer existed, instead was replaced with Two Face. A villain too easily swayed by the Joker's propositions of black and white choices. As such in this situation, the only one dead was Jonathan Crane. Poor, poor Jonathan Crane. No one would be mourning his death. It was a death of no importance. None at all. People would rejoice, yes, but he had never been the biggest of villains. If anything, he was the most preferred. Nobody died when it was only Jonathan's doing. No one perished. Victims could even recover from the madness, if the antidote was administered quick enough.

Jonathan Crane would just be another name listed in tomorrow's obituary.

At best it was sad, and Batman knew he shouldn't be relieved, but he was. Jonathan could have been saved from his madness at Arkham, and then go back to living normally. But that wouldn't have happened, just as it won't with the Joker. He knew that, but to lose such a great mind... that was done and over with. The Joker had escaped, and the police had arrived. There was a somber air as the six people, Gordon included, looked at the body of Jonathan.

After a short conversation, the body was taken to a crematory. Burned, and the ashes scatter on the wind.

But things are white, and things unseen are seen everyday.

-

He stirred, and groaned at the stiffness in his body. It traveled up and down, dug little needles into his spin. Little focused spots of tingling pain, collected in his limbs, and then it was gone. A sudden wash of numbness, then the return of feeling. Nerves starting to do their duty once more, sending the little transmissions to his brain. The message was pain. Pain focused in his neck, at the base of it, the feeling of rapid growth. Rapid reconstruction of the area that had been slice.

Then it died down, and ragged gasps escaped his throat. He breathed the clean air in fitfully, but he was breathing. Not dead? But someone had attacked him, had cut his throat. Had killed him. It was unexplainable, but he was alive. Breathing, hurting, but alive. Jonathan looked up at a gasp of awe, and then the sound of clapping. Only one person clapping, one person other than him in the room. Finally, he opened his eyes, but shut them at the brightness. The bright white. It had burned them, so unused to the thing called white. He hardly saw it in Gotham.

"Youse breathe." The voice was shocked, trembling but excited. Excited that he was breathing? It made no sense, but he wasn't going to look at the white again. "No one breathes here. No one. Because here, whoever comes is _dead_." That got him looking, risking the bleach white walls, the white waxed floors, and the bland ceiling covered in bright lights. Jonathan saw the squat man standing before him, he saw the shiny black shoes, and the suit. A little bald man with beady eyes, and a wrinkled faced. Shriveled. A dwarf. "But youse ain't dead, are you? Which means youse one of 'em."

"One of-" Jonathan's voice sounded awful, distorted, disgusting. Ragged, torn. Unused. But nevertheless he was going to ask his questions. "One of what? Where am I? Am I really dead?"

The dwarf's stubby fingers flipped wordlessly through a battered black notebook, lips pressed in a tight line. "Youse Jonathan Crane?" Jonathan nodded quickly, wondering what this was about. "Youse name isn't listed in the Book. Youse were never going to die. But'cha did. That means you one of 'em. As to where youse are, youse in the Room. Judgement's Room. Me? I am youse judge. Youse, youse one of 'em."

Drawing back in a silent snarl, Jonathan bit back a smart retort. So he was dead, but he wasn't. It was hard for his mind to cope with the idea, but it wasn't the craziest thing that had ever happened to him. Getting a strange looks from people now was bad enough, now he wouldn't have to deal with that. Or it seemed so. "Are you going to tell me who 'they' are, or not?"

"I am, I was getting to that. Hold your horses." The judged snapped, and fixed his red tie. Smoothed out the wrinkles in his pants and continued. "Youse one of the Reapers. Youse one of 'em. They die, when the ain't supposed to die, and they come here. And they can breathe. The dead don't need to breathe. Me? I'm guessing youse Fear. There are twelve main Reapers, and now, youse joining them. Fear was recently decided as a... means of death. Youse? Youse death. Fear brings many a death. Old Age, Nihilism, Sacrifice, Loneliness, Intoxication, Despair, Destruction, Rage, Greed, Madness, Law, and now Fear. There are many others yes, but those are but the main thirteen. Thirteen Reapers... what an unlucky number."

"Wait- what?"

"Youse don't get it do youse? Aiya ya... well youse get it eventually." He paused, and looked at the dark haired man. "Yes youse will get it on your own. Youse a smart looking one. 'Sides youse reek of Fear."

He hefted Jonathan to his feet, and lead the much taller individual towards an outline in the white wall, a door. He opened it to reveal blackness, and then grinned a near toothless grin. A manical gleam in his eyes, and then he shoved Jonathan. Loosing his footing and tumbling into the blackness, he heard one last thing.

"Have fun with them humans."


	2. Boring ol' 'hio

**Title: **A Death of No Importance  
**Series: **On Pale Horses  
**Rating: **T - May/Will go up. Drug use. Ohio. Cleveland. OC(s).  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman. Hell, I don't even have a laptop of my own.  
**Notes: **I dissed Ohio in the chapter title. I KNOW. Wanna know why? 'Cause its honestly boring. I live there, I should know. If you do too, you should know. Or maybe not. I don't care. Yes, for the love of fishcakes, there are OCs in this story. I need them to be in there. Because the setting isn't Gotham. Why the hell would the Joker be in Cleveland? Much less any other villains. (:

I was listening to songs by Modest Mouse while writing this. _Fire it up_,_ The Stars are Projectors_,_ Dramamine_,_ Exit does not Exist_,_ Ohio_, and _Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset_ just to name a few. For Chapter One, I was listening to some Russian Folk Songs. Scary, huh? o-o

FOR THE LOVE OF. I KNOW YOU ALL LOOKED AWAY AT THE FIRST SENTENCE IN THE ACTUAL CHAPTER. APPARENTLY THAT TURNS YOU OFF. ): IF YOU READ THE REST OF THE CHAPTER, YOU WOULD SEE THAT IT ISN'T TRUE. IF YOU WERE ONE OF THE PEOPLE WHO LOOKED AWAY, WELL. YOU DON'T APPRECIATE INCORPORATION OF A CHARACTER THAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD IN A SLIGHTLY LESS SUSPICIOUS WAY. GOD.

Enjoy?

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**Chapter Two - "Boring ol' 'hio"**

It turned out that Jonathan Crane had a "brother"; one that was a year or so younger, and looked suspiciously identical to the dead man. The "brother", as Batman had learned, was named Elliot. Elliot Crane wouldn't know of the death of his one living relative until later, considering the man lived in Cleveland, not Gotham. But then there was the fact that neither met with each other within the past seven years, so they must not have been on the best of terms. Little things like that he could piece together, so Batman was entirely unsure of why he was going to tell this Elliot that Jonathan was dead.

The man wasn't that hard to find, at dance club called 'The Sway'; it was in the seedier parts of Cleveland, in a rundown looking building. If only that was the case. The inside was smoke and mirrors, techno and 60s music playing as loud as possible without disrupting the law. The people inside were young, dressed in all manner of simple to extravagant outfits. Flashing lights and glow sticks galore. People probably long time ecstasy users, or maybe just trying it for the first time. Not all of course, would be, but many would.

Elliot was leaning on the outside of the building, blue eyes gazing at the dark sky as his companion chattered away. His friend, Samuel, was a chatterbox. He talked on and on, about anything and everything. The only thing he seemed to steer away from was Gotham. As if it was a no-no conversation to speak of the city. Something strange about those two, Batman noted. They both had identical numbers tattooed on their knuckles. Not identical, the numbers were different, but they were of an unusual style.

No, they were just regular numbers printed on their knuckles. They just held a sense of foreboding. On Samuel's hand was the number nine, and on Elliot's the number three. "My god Elliot! You're so lucky. Only three? Geez, that's so easy to pick and choose yours. I got nine this time." It was the Samuel boy, light brown hair and a baby face that was dusted in freckles. Smiling. Loud. "Nine people? Ugh. How many clubs will I have to visit to fill the quota?"

"However many it takes." Elliot's voice was smooth, pleasurable to listen to. Sounded like someone who could hold a decent conversation without flattery or bringing up gossip. A person Bruce would have gotten along with. But enough of that- their conversation was entirely strange. Three people? Nine? A quota? It sounded like they were apart of a gang. But they didn't have that brutish look that was expected.

Or maybe they were just higher up than the thugs Batman normally saw. He shook the idea off. The two just didn't fit the image of a gang.

"Ugh. I hate it when you're right- which is always!" The Samuel fellow seemed like a complainer, but a person who complimented at the same time. Elliot excepted the comment with a nod of his head, and did nothing further. "Anyways, I'm off. Gotta do what I got a do, else the number will get higher. You're so lucky!" He started to walk away, but ended up shouting something. "Don't stay out too late! You get cranky otherwise. What a woman!"

There was a glare from the blue eyed man, a nasty chilling look that caused Samuel's pace to quicken. Like he was afraid of Elliot. Batman was pretty sure the glare could only amount to an angry kitten's, but he wasn't on the receiving end of it. He barely caught the muttered words from Elliot. "Sticks and stones, Samuel, sticks and stones. Words hurt more."

Elliot turned back to the building, lips set in a grim line, and muttering to himself. It was a strain to hear his voice even with the voice amplifying device- devices? Hell if he knew exactly what to call the things Fox gave him. "Fuck. Almost eleven. I still have one more to go, well, best get busy. If I actual finish today's quota, tomorrow's a day off. Thank goodness."

Half an hour passed, and then another. Soon it was eleven thirty, and the sound of an ambulance came closer.  
_Whee-ooo. Whee-ooo. Whee-ooo! _It pulled alongside The Sway, and the people rushed in amongst the people, dragging out a flailing woman on a stretcher. She was screaming, covered in sweat, and scantily dressed. About the age of nineteen. Curly hair clinging to her skin, tears running down her eyes. "My god! My God! Get them off me! Go away! Go aw-_ay_!"

She slumped down at the last broken shout, eyes rolled back into her skull. A few spastic twitches, and then done. She was gone. They tried to shock her back into life, but it didn't work. Another death to report to the family, and the news, of ecstasy use. Batman tried not to balk in disgust. He really did. But they risked it by trying. They did.

They really did.

He tried to ignore the bored look on Elliot's face as the man left the building, heading towards his car. Batman really tried. But even the part of him that was Bruce couldn't keep a firm face.

-

Jonathan headed down the bland, and horribly decorated hallway (Plaid wallpaper? In that shade of green?) towards his apartment door. There was a little more spring in his step, he wasn't going to have to work tomorrow! It was his first day off in a long while, and hell if he knew what he was going to do. But he wasn't going to work. That was good enough for him at this point.

Fumbling to get the key from his ring of keys, he found the right one, gold and shiny, he unlocked the door and entered. Hitting the light switch, he winced at the sudden bright light. It was a lot different than the dim ones in the hall. Hungry he headed towards the kitchen, intent on finding something to hold him off until morning. Late night snack cravings wouldn't do good for his image.

He found nothing appealing in the fridge, and so moved on to the cupboards. No. No. No. No. Was that what he thought it was? He pondered briefly over why there was a box of brownie mix in the cupboard (He didn't remember buying it), but took the box out of the cupboard. Got himself a spoon, and ate it dry. (Personally he would have preferred chocolate chip cookie mix, but brownies were good enough.)

Then he headed over to the living room to flop down on the couch only to jump back up from it. "Aren't you supposed to make the brownies first?" The bestial growl startled him. Because  
_oh my god he recognized it._ It was Batman. Fucking Batman had found him! Was he going to get the shit beat out of him? Again! For the what- umpteenth time? (It had been too many to count, but over seventy, he was sure.) But no, Batman was tensed to fight. Instead he was leaning, casually, against the wall near the window.

"I should charge you for breaking and entering." Jonathan could. And he would, if only he didn't want an investigation as to why the hell Batman came to his apartment, in Concord, when Batman's jurisdiction was technically Gotham. "But I won't. And it taste better this way. Why the hell are you here?"

Bruce snorted at that. It tasted better? It was all dry and crumbly. Nasty. "Mr. Crane, your brother is dead."

It was hard to resist the urge to spit in Batman's face, telling him that it was_ Doctor_ Crane. Not mister. He held it back. No need to start suspicions. The least he could do to spite the bat was speak in a callous tone. "Oh. I knew that. They sent an email. What, did you find the body or something? Or are you guilty of the crime?"

"Don't accuse me of things I wouldn't do." He snarled this time, glaring at the twig like man. It would be so easy to break all the bones in Elliot's body. No. He couldn't think like that. He had to resist. Had to. Batman didn't succumb to rage and beat innocent bystanders.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. He was just playing with the mood. Or something like that. He didn't know what to call it, but he had just been kidding. Too late for that comment. "Look. I don't care what you would or wouldn't do. If you don't have anywhere to stay tonight, you can sleep on the couch Mr. Wayne."

"What?" He was flabbergasted. How had Elliot figured it out so quickly? The man didn't even live in Gotham! Or well, Bruce supposed other cities might announce things happening in other cities. They had when Superman showed up.

A thin eyebrow raised, curious, and mocking. "I said if you don't have anywhere to stay tonight, you can sleep on the couch."

"No. After that." He wasn't even disguising his voice anymore.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes. That. How'd you know?"

"'How'd'? Well I think its rather obvious. I mean, Batman shows up a few days after Bruce Wayne returns from the dead." He chuckled at the last part. How ironic. "I'm just surprised everyone else is too stupid to make the connection. Oh, and besides. How else would Batman get all his, ah, 'cool little gadgets'?" Jonathan paused, frowned. And then remembered what he was going to add. "And don't worry. I won't tell  
_anyone_ your little secret. Promise."

"I can't trust your word." Where had that come from? Elliot was certainly not his brother, and didn't appear to be the type to set a living person on fire. Or did he? Bruce sighed, he had to stop being so skeptic.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, and pursed his lips together. Couldn't trust him? Really? Well whatever. It didn't quite matter, because no matter what proof Batman had, he couldn't really prove Jonathan and Elliot were the same person. There had been a body, and there would have been scaring 'if he survived'. "Well, that's your problem. I'm sure while you have an excuse not to be in Gotham, you couldn't exactly get a place to stay in this area. So you might as well stay."

Bruce grunted, but he was rather surprised that the other man could easily guess what had happened. Or. Maybe it just wasn't so hard to guess. But there was the problem of clothes- or never mind. The blue eyed man had dug up a few articles of clothing that seemed to be about Bruce's size.

The only question was, why did he have them in his closet?

Despite that, Bruce got to changing into the clothes as Jonathan headed towards his bedroom. Making sure to lock the door.

"Oh shit."

* * *

I really hope you didn't think I would actually have Jonathan have a brother, and so turned away in disgust. I mean really. I know his history pretty damn well. While I'll probably end up taking the liberties that come with this being a FANFICTION, there won't be that much changes to it.

I forgot to say in the last chapter. But I'll say it in this one. FOR SURE.

Review, please?


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